Red Eye to San Jose

So, I thought overnight flights would be the best plan with an almost-three-year-old who is incredibly active and not super excited about wearing masks for hours on end. We would just get to the airport, get all tucked in, and sleep through the flight, right? Well, kind of. Sophia did sleep most of the flight.

Man, I wish that was the end of the story.

Our flight was scheduled to leave at 10 pm. The lovely lady at the check-in counter informed us it was now 10:20 due to a late arrival. No biggie, let’s watch a little Netflix on mom’s phone and quiet down. Then they extended it to 10:45. Okay, let’s get one last run around in before being trapped on a plane with hundreds of people trying to sleep. When they announced the flight wouldn’t be leaving until 11:15 due to a mechanical issue, always comforting, Sophia lost it, and I couldn’t blame her. Sev wanted to know what was wrong with the plane, and Tim and I wanted to know if the bars were still open.

Sometime before midnight, we boarded. Dinner was long gone, last drink already a headache, sleep-deprived toddler both overexcited and pissed at the world, and Sev, questioning everyone with every thought in her intelligent little head.

The devil picked out our seats. At least for myself and the girls. Tim was thrilled. Three seats in a row on one side of the aisle, one all by itself on the other side. Tim sat in the solo seat with a trying-to-be-apologetic-but-actually-ecstatic-smile, knowing full well the toddler would never leave my side. So I got the middle seat. It was fine. Both girls could lay their heads in my lap and go to sleep. I’d tuck a pillow in my neck and dream along with them.

Four hours later, I had slept seven minutes. Sev’s legs kept falling open into the aisle where she was getting trampled on by and tripping every passing passenger. Sophia braced her legs against the side of the plane and headbutted Sev every chance she could. Both growled like Manchester Terriers, guarding their territory every time I thought about moving. First, my feet went numb, then my legs, then my butt. I would try to flex my butt cheeks to get blood flowing fearing the ever possible blood clot They always warn you about while flying, but soon lost all capacity to do so. My head would nod every hour or so, then snap back and crack my neck in a helpful way, so there was that. I’m pretty sure I drooled on Sophia’s head at one point but then became so dehydrated there was no drool to be had. Sev woke about two hours in and had a complete screaming meltdown about how awful everything was, waking everyone within five aisles of us, then passed blissfully back out, remembering nothing later.

And our seats. I clearly remember picking out our seats months earlier. I do not remember picking seats at the very back of the plane. Seats that do not recline. Seats right next to the only bathrooms. Bathrooms that are lit disco-style with bright blue lights every time a passenger opens the door. And the doors are constantly being opened. CONSTANTLY.

The only saving grace of this hell of my own making was the in-flight service had Sex and the City episodes. I can stand a lot if I can binge-watch Sex and the City, which I did for four hours straight. Long live Carrie Bradshaw.

Tim had a great flight. Somehow, I still love him.